Chaos Attraction

Excedrin, Alcohol, Krispy Kreme

2005-06-19, 9:27 p.m.

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Another weekend in which I just wished we were dead, 'cause that's the only way out of the situation.

Dad looks even worse, to the point where I can't stand to look at him. Mewling infant, literally. And he was in sweats or underwear all weekend, which looks even worse.

Oh, and guess what he did this weekend? Stopped eating and drinking and swallowing most of the time. Mom spent all of today trying to get fluids down him so she'd be able to move him around. In between pleas of "I feel like you're not wanting to live any more. You're scaring me to death."

(Honestly, I can't blame him if that's what he's choosing.)

That's part of the disease- it shuts down your throat. Apparently his rotting brain just tells him not to swallow any more, or something like that.

Mom asked me this weekend if my shrink ever said it was okay to be mad at the person. She yelled at him quite a bit this weekend, along the lines of "SWALLOW! JUST SWALLOW! STOP MOVING YOUR FOOT THERE! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" She's losing it.

I tried to talk to her about (a) going to a shrink, or (b) calling Dad's doctor. Definite no on (a), dunno about (b). Tried to talk to her about getting a maid (turns out the neighbor lady runs a cleaning company!), but noooooo.

He's going to be housebound totally any...second now, I'm guessing. Not to mention the ol' feeding tube, which we thought was still a bit farther off, looks more like an "any day now." Mom debated whether or not to spend $12,000 on getting the van refurbished so he could ride around in it or not- "but how long could he even ride in it? A month? Why waste the money? Is it evil of me to think things like that?"

It makes me sick to be home. Physically at this point.

I came home and popped an Excedrin, chugged a wine cooler, and ate some Krispy Kreme. The only decent part of the weekend since I got off the train.

I'm 27 years old. I have two children. I call them Mom and Dad. Dad is the infant, Mom is the teenager who expects me to magically be able to solve all of her problems. Which I can't. I have been dealing with this shit since I was 19 years old and I can't handle it. Shouldn't I be at least 40 before I have to parent my own parents? 45?

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